


if i had to perish twice

by Serie11



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chocolate Box Exchange 2019, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Nonbinary Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, classic fire emblem defection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 20:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17690057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serie11/pseuds/Serie11
Summary: Five times Laegjarn surprises Fjorm (and one time Fjorm surprises her)





	if i had to perish twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenoglossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoglossy/gifts).



> Title inspired by Fire And Ice by Robert Frost  
> Hope you enjoy!

 

i

Fjorm’s breath makes a cloud in the air when she exhales, a trail of coolness even in this burning hot place. It makes her feel more at home – like the Ice Dragon is with her, even here. Leiptr is chilly as always in her hand, but she can sense that the heat of Múspell troubles it. This land is steaming and hot and melting, wearing away at both their defences in a slow but consistent manner that makes her think of ice, not fire. The resemblance makes her teeth ache. If she had a choice, Fjorm would flee as soon as she could.

Her chest tightens, and she coughs wetly. “I would never,” she promises, to both herself and the Ice Dragon, if she is listening. Fjorm has pledged herself to her cause, and she intends to see it through.

“Surveying the terrain?”

She doesn’t move as Kiran comes to stand by her, the Summoner wearing their long robes as normal.

“The heat here is almost overwhelming… I am not used to it,” Fjorm admits.

“I don’t think that’s got anything to do with you being used to the cold,” Kiran says wryly. “ _I_ think it’s far too hot here.”

Across from them the plains of the fire country steam, a mockery of Fjorm’s memories of snow in the air. “We should hurry,” she says.

“Of course,” Kiran says. “Everyone is waking and getting ready to move. There is no sense in rushing and being unprepared when we face them.”

Fjorm sighs, breath leaving her lips gentle as the first snowfall of winter. “I know,” she says. And yet even now when she could help those in camp, she is standing aside and wasting time musing over things that will or will not happen. “Let us go back and aid in the preparations.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kiran says. And even though Fjorm intends to follow them, she can’t help looking back across the plains to their destination, a burning city set on an arid landscape.

In the distance, something moves.

“Kiran!” she says sharply. The Summoner pauses and comes back to her side. Fjorm silently points out what she had seen, which has resolved itself clearly to be several figures on wyvernback, flying speedily through the air.

“I’ll get the others,” Kiran says, spinning in order to run back to camp.

“Wait,” Fjorm asks of them. Kiran hesitates but comes back to stand by her side. “I think I recognise them.”

“I didn’t think there were any other allies this deep in enemy territory,” they murmur.

“They aren’t allies,” Fjorm tells them. Kiran eyes her from under their hood.

The Crown Princess of Múspell and her two retainers are devastatingly fast, and land before Fjorm can decide if not sending for reinforcements is a bad idea. But she uses a sword and Fjorm has Kiran here to support her and Leiptr cool in her grip, so she’s confident that she can fend them off if a hasty retreat is needed.

“Ice Princess Fjorm,” Laegjarn says. Fjorm offers no return in greeting.

“This is not an attacking force – what is it you want?” she asks tersely. Kiran hovers behind her shoulder, close but not close enough to impede on her movements if they need to fight.

The Princess regards her silently for several seconds. Her blank expression gives away none of her feelings or thoughts.

“I come with a warning,” Laegjarn says. Fjorm knows the chill of distance when she sees it – the Princess is deliberately keeping herself separate from something. She stares at her, as her thoughts race over what it could be. Only one answer makes sense, but it doesn’t _make sense._ They are the enemy. If Laegjarn is warning them, then that must mean…

“I don’t want to fight.” She brushes her windswept hair back so it’s tucked away cleanly under her tiara. “Your army is too weak to face the Fires of Múspell and live. Turn back now.”

Stunned, Fjorm reels back even as she lifts her lip so her teeth are showing. “So you can bring your armies to our doors? We are cold but not stupid – we will _fight._ ”

Kiran puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. Fjorm tightens her grip on Leiptr and waits, ice cold.

“If your desire is to be broken on our swords, then we will oblige you,” Laegjarn says coolly.

“While the warning is appreciated, it is not necessary,” Kiran states. “Go in peace.”

Laegjarn looks at them for another few seconds before shaking her head and turning back to her wyvern. The three fliers take off and wing their way into the sky swiftly.

“It’s a trap,” Fjorm says lowly. “They know we’re here. They know we’re coming. I can’t believe that she would _pity_ us enough to try and tell us to turn back!”

“Maybe,” Kiran says, their voice unfocused. She can tell that they’re already running through strategies in their head. “If we know it’s a trap, we can turn it back on them, if we’re careful. Come on – we need to let the others know about this.”

This time, Fjorm doesn’t look back over the plains before following Kiran.

 

ii

She is still thinking about the strange interaction with the Princess when they fight. Leiptr is lively in her hands as she locks her lance against sword. Laegjarn fights with a rage and a power that Fjorm recognises as not her own. She is brimming with fire and destruction and Fjorm can’t help but compare this Laegjarn to the one who came to them with a softly worded warning and a plea for them to leave her lands so this fight would never happen.

She ducks under a sword thrust. One of the advantages of being infantry is that she can usually avoid hits from flying units if she sees them coming.

But it’s when Laegjarn _roars_ after the miss that she _knows._

Her heart aches even as she darts forward for a swirling attack. This power is not human, just like her own.

“Princess Laegjarn!” she calls.

“I will not answer to you,” Laegjarn steams back.

“I know what you’ve done! This doesn’t have to be the end for you, or us! You have a good heart – I could see it when you tried to warn us.”

“It’s too late now,” Laegjarn rumbles, and even through her dragon-voice Fjorm can tell that she’s sorrowful.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Fjorm breathes. Laegjarn hesitates, and it’s enough of a crack that Fjorm decides to at least _try._ “Come with us! You know what your father is doing is wrong.”

“My sister,” Laegjarn growls.

“We can protect her too! You’re the Crown Princess – lead!”

“Even if I wanted to, I cannot. It is too late.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Fjorm says. “Let me help you.”

A breath, a pause in the flow of battle. She sees Laegjarn hesitate and in the flame of her eyes she can see a request for help. It’s enough, even though it does startle her. She hadn’t expected someone of Múspell to reach out for help.  

Fjorm twirls Leiptr in one of the riskiest moves she’s ever tried to pull off, and knocks Laegjarn out of her saddle. The Princess grunts as she hits the ground but before she can move Fjorm is on her, pinning her to the ground. She’s burning up in more ways than one – her cloak is on fire and Fjorm swears that she’s breathing out actual smoke.

“What–” Laegjarn chokes.

“By the power given to me by the Ice Dragon Nifl I seal the Fire in your veins,” Fjorm says, words almost tripping out of her mouth. Maybe in another circumstance it would sound dramatic and clear and ceremonial, but here Fjorm doesn’t theatrically pause or wait for Laegjarn’s stunned expression to fade or for their imaginary audience to drink in the sight of them.

She leans down and kisses her, breathing away her ice. Laegjarn stiffens and there’s a hand clutched in her hair and the heat is unbearable but she’s been burned before, and for far lesser reasons than saving someone else’s life.

The Princess shudders and cools under her, and Fjorm can tell that Múspell’s Flame is now dormant in her. Laegjarn coughs when she pulls away and stares at her like she can’t tell if Fjorm is a curse or a blessing.

“Come with me,” Fjorm begs, offering her hand. “We’ll find your sister. We’ll end this war.”

Laegjarn blinks, but slowly reaches out to clasp their hands together.

 

iii

The Princess is proud, but hurting, even though her sister is in camp as well. Fjorm watches her pensively even as Sharena and Kiran welcome her and Alfonse makes a light joke about how Kiran can attract new heroes just by being in the vicinity of them. Through it all Laegjarn sits, and waits. For what, Fjorm can only guess.

She can still feel the tingling of heat on her lips, a feeling that has lingered far longer than she had first thought it would. The immediate warmth has faded but what she’s left with reminds her of the warm front before a storm. Having Laegjarn in the camp fills her with the same trepidation. Was it the right choice to dig in and wait out the storm, and save the other Princess from the Flames?  

She suspects that if it hadn’t been, she would not still be standing. The Ice Dragon is ever watchful, and she strikes fiercer than any blizzard when displeased. Fjorm had called on her specifically to help, and she had responded. Ever since the retreat Leiptr has been chill and strong in her hands, never wavering. She has the Ice Dragon’s approval. She doesn’t know if that concerns or confuses her.

Kiran says something and Sharena and Alfonse laugh. The corners of Laegjarn’s lips curl upwards, not in a smirk of victory but something softer. Fjorm can’t take her eyes away from her expression – it’s humorous and warm and not something she had expected, at all. It’s disquieting like the first snowfall is disquieting when it comes weeks too late into the snow season. Or maybe she’s just not used to something taking up space in her heart that isn’t her need for vengeance. Especially since her tangle of emotions are directed towards the Princess of a country at war with her own. These emotions must be… leftovers, from the ritual. Surely they aren’t her own. Surely.

Fjorm looks at them sharing the companionship of the fire and aches with wanting to join them. But this cannot be the end to all their battles, and someone still needs to keep watch. Or maybe that’s just her excuse – maybe she doesn’t want to be near the Princess right now when she can’t even see the beginning of the knot that’s tangled up inside her chest.

Either way, Fjorm wants to keep her distance. For now.

 

iv

Travelling back to Askr is done quickly. Or maybe time just seem to move quickly, slipping through her fingers like melt-water. Fjorm almost feels like she shouldn’t be here, that it shouldn’t have actually happened, that they defeated the Ruler of Flame and ended his desire for conquest. That her country is almost at peace again, and with her big brother already there to watch over the reconstruction and rebuilding. That she is still here. That Laegjarn is, as well.

The other Princess has left her younger sister in charge of Múspell, claiming that she knew enough to run the country while Laegjarn attended to other matters in Askr – mainly showing her good will towards the other countries in order to prove that the children of fire mean no more harm to the world. Fjorm hasn’t – avoided her, as such. She’s exchanged polite greetings with her in planning sessions alongside Kiran and the Prince and Princess of Askr, but that had been quite formal.

They haven’t talked about the kiss.

Fjorm doesn’t want her to presume anything… and maybe she doesn’t want to presume anything either. She’s found herself admiring Laegjarn’s calm battle manoeuvres when they’ve fought beside each other and her level head in the war room. Her obvious concern for the troops and heroes under her guidance. The glint of intelligence in her eyes…

Fjorm takes a deep breath and resists the urge to cough. Her place is here, with the other heroes. She just wishes that she had the time she needed to explore her feelings towards Laegjarn.

With that snowfall of her thoughts she sees the Princess. Fjorm hesitates for only a second before trailing after her like a displaced zephyr. Hadn’t she just been thinking about the lack of time she has? Only acting can rectify that.

Laegjarn sees her and comes to a stop. Heart suddenly thudding in her chest, Fjorm thinks that this is the first time that they’ve ever been _alone_ together. Every other time there have been other eyes on them.

“Lady Fjorm,” Laegjarn says politely. “It is late. You should be sleeping.”

She sleeps little, these days. Laying down makes her cough worse.

“If I should, then you should as well,” Fjorm points out.

“Maybe so,” Laegjarn admits. She doesn’t ask why Fjorm is still awake, so Fjorm steps forward and leads them towards the edge of the castle battlements where the cold wind blows in from the north and she can think with the promise of snow in her lungs.

“This does seem like a place that you would belong in,” Laegjarn admits when she comes to a stop.

“The cold?”

“The loneliness,” Laegjarn says, and it’s like a kick in her chest. Fjorm shudders and as much as she wants to fight back, Leiptr isn’t here and Laegjarn is one of her allies.

“I’m not – _lonely,_ ” Fjorm says bitingly icy. “Do not speak of things you do not understand.”

Laegjarn doesn’t say anything for a second and Fjorm lifts her face to the wind to try and feel a trace of home on her skin.

“Yes you are,” the Princess tells her, voice cool and collected. It’s the same voice she uses when she knows her way of approaching an enemy camp is superior and she only needs to lay out the facts and all will agree with her. Fjorm turns to her, _something_ blazing in her chest, but Laegjarn’s eyes stop her. They aren’t harsh and scalding. Fjorm looks away again. There are many things she can withstand but _compassion_ from one who was once her enemy is not one of them.

“I know, because I feel it too,” Laegjarn whispers. “Múspell still calls to me. He desires what I have promised him… and one day, he will have me. Just like your own Nifl will take you.”

Fjorm slowly lifts her eyes. Laegjarn must have stepped closer – or maybe the distance between them had just been something she had imagined.

“The moon – I feel her eyes on me,” Fjorm admits, and hides her cough behind her hand.

Laegjarn puts her hand on her shoulder. Fjorm resists the urge to curl up in her heat. When was the last time she was _warm…_

“You’re not alone,” Laegjarn says fiercely. “You saved me, when you didn’t need to, when everything was stopping you. In Múspell when someone acts against their interests towards your own you _owe_ them what they gave you. Lady Fjorm, I don’t pretend to understand you, but I would like to. For both our countries… and for us. Because no one else will.”

Fjorm can’t help but let a few tears leak out. “Thank you, Laegjarn.” She takes a shuddering breath. “But… please remember that you’re not alone either.”

The corner of Laegjarn’s mouth curls, and she wraps her arms around Fjorm. Fjorm returns the embrace and lets the companionship settle down to her bones.

 

v

That is not the last night they spend together under the stars. Fjorm often cannot sleep, and she suspects that Laegjarn has the same troubles. The other woman eventually admits it is because sometimes (often) she feels like she cannot escape to think her own thoughts or feel her own feelings under the ever watchful eye of the sun. With the moon’s soft glow on them, both Princesses can relax.

And maybe it’s just her imagination, but Fjorm feels better in her company. Lighter and less weighed down by the expectations of her rank and position in the army and more understood. With Laegjarn, she feels like she can be herself.

Laegjarn confesses that she feels the same way. While it does make Fjorm feel _seen_ it also has led to more than one argument between them, clashing cultures grating against each other like a glacier against rock. But night after night they still come together to roam the perimeter of the camp or the battlements of the castle they are staying in, because it lets Fjorm feel like she’s back in her tower room at home in Nifl and Laegjarn says she likes feeling the wind on her face without the distractions of other people or having to worry about battle.

This night, Fjorm is quiet. A letter had come in from Ylgr about the state of the kingdom and her elder brother’s new rule, and the quiet hope in the letter that Fjorm would come _home_ soon had thawed something she had held fiercely tight inside her. Hope… she hopes to see her home again. Her sister and her brother.

“You are as quiet as an unseen snowfall tonight,” Laegjarn comments. Fjorm doesn’t look at her. If she doesn’t share, then Laegjarn will understand. And if she does, she doesn’t want Laegjarn to see her face. She’s torn enough as it is.

“The first snowfall is a sign of good luck in Nifl,” Fjorm says lightly.

“A deadly one in Múspell. Snowfall is just about the worst sign that can happen.”

Fjorm thinks about a land of fire and resists the urge to shiver. “Then what is a good sign?”

Laegjarn looks outwards. “A cloudless day. When the first thing you hear in the morning is the mating call of a fire-wren. If you strike the first blow in battle.” Her lips twist. “My father was never one to believe in signs. He said that we made our own luck.”

“Well he made his,” Fjorm says lowly, eyeing the other Princess. Even though it’s true, it _is_ still her father that she’s talking about. Laegjarn nods slowly, but her mind is clearly elsewhere.

“Even so,” Laegjarn sighs. She turns to face Fjorm. “I haven’t said this, but… thank you, for reaching out to me. I was your enemy, and yet you chose to help rather than fight.”

“You chose first,” Fjorm reminds her. “You tried to warn us to stay away.”

Laegjarn huffs. “I underestimated you. That won’t happen again.”

Fjorm smiles at her. Laegjarn smiles back, and Fjorm ducks her head to hide her blush.

“Laegjarn,” Fjorm tries to start, but Laegjarn interrupts her by putting a finger under her chin and tilting her head up so she can kiss her. Her lips are soft and warm and she nips at Fjorm before pulling back.

“Sometimes you are too much like ice. Us of fire know when to blaze a path.” Her lips curl into a smirk and Fjorm has to tear her eyes away from them.

“Maybe there are some benefits to having fire around then,” Fjorm says. Laegjarn huffs a laugh and bumps their shoulders together.

Fjorm shyly tangles her hand with Laegjarn’s. Laegjarn smiles and squeezes it, and Fjorm can’t help the warm bubbling that takes place in her heart.

 

vi

The plains of Múspell are just as arid as she remembers. Fjorm takes a breath and tastes ash and dust and heat. Not exactly her idea of a good time.

Next to her, Laegjarn is probably thinking the exact opposite.

“Must feel good to be home,” Fjorm says.

Laegjarn is standing tall and proud, her wyvern nosing around in the dirt behind them. Fjorm isn’t sure she likes flying, but it’s definitely the fastest way to get around.

“The air feels nice,” Laegjarn says. “Familiar. The humidity in Askr drives me crazy sometimes.”

“The dryness here is strange,” Fjorm admits. “But you’ve put up with being away for some time, so I’m sure I can deal with it.”

Laegjarn nods. “Are you sure you don’t mind? Even though the Order of Heroes has mostly been disbanded, you have your own kingdom you can return to. You don’t have to be here.”

Fjorm leans over to kiss her cheek. “And not have you around? Don’t be silly.”

Laegjarn blinks at her, but then she smiles her soft smile that Fjorm loves. “If you say so,” she says. “Let’s go, then. I want to show you the fire fountains!”

“Fire fountains?” Fjorm asks warily. “They can’t be fountains… of fire…”

“You doubt my word, my lady?” Laegjarn asks, stiffly formal.

Fjorm giggles. “Of course not, my lady. But I am hoping you will show me them.”

Laegjarn relaxes out of her formal pose, mischief glinting in her eyes. “Why, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
